


This Sweet Heart of Yours

by nimiumcaelo



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Angst, Bertie Never Freaking Stops Crying, First Kiss, Happy Ending, M/M, Men Crying, Misunderstandings, proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:48:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21585646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimiumcaelo/pseuds/nimiumcaelo
Summary: Bertie thinks Jeeves has gone to run off with some girl. Has he, though?
Relationships: Reginald Jeeves/Bertram "Bertie" Wooster
Comments: 10
Kudos: 93
Collections: AUTHOR'S FAVORITES





	This Sweet Heart of Yours

**Author's Note:**

> Playlist I listened to while writing this: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1JwXybA1iQHelGtkOkPe5r?si=9-bK5IP1TEaOL2akao4MXw

I’m not much of one for sobbing. As you are all well aware, we Woosters tend to keep our heads high and upper lips stiff. No matter the pickle, a Wooster will exit stage left with dignity and slight applause from audience. Such has always been the way. Even the time Jeeves burned my most dashing pair of maroon trousers, I was, of course, able to see the sitch from the bird’s eye. There is, always, a greater reason for such sorrows. One emotes, then one dusts one’s sleeves and heads back to the old routine. As my Aunt Dahlia always said when I was a lad, too much dwelling on the clouds makes you forget the rainbow. There’s always some patch of color beyond the grey, if you can only chance to see it. 

Well, I had my elbows resting on the rather cold and rather uncomfortable windowsill for the past three hours, staring out at the painfully blue sky, searching for some distant rainbow on the sunshine-y horizon. All I had found, however, was that I rather hated leaning on this windowsill and that God in His Heaven was determined to spite me with cheery weather. For, as you may have guessed, despite being a Wooster of the stiff-upper-lip crew and being a gentleman most  _ preux _ and not inclined to make other, innocent parties feel sorry for my own silly self, I was having quite a day of it. The Wooster heart was, as they say, pained. Broken, even.

Now, dear Reader, you may be pausing and scratching the old bean. You may say to yourself, Wooster sad? It can’t be! He’s the chap who always finds the silver in the lining and the pot o’ gold at the end of the rainbow! Whatever can have broken his heart, thus?

Well, I will tell you. It was Jeeves. Jeeves is the one who has dashed my poor heart on the ground, stomped on it a couple of times in football cleats, then spit on it for good measure. If I were a weaker man, I would have passed on the moment he said what he said.

You may be wondering, What was it that Jeeves said? Though it pains me to recall it, I will tell you. It all began like this.

I woke up yesterday morning to the sunshine coming in the window and the scent of a warm cup of tea at my bedside. Jeeves was in the kitchen preparing breakfast and I could hear the faint sounds of him puttering away at eggs and toast. I sat up in my bed and sipped at the old restorative. Bird on his thorn and snail at the wing, what?

Jeeves glided in later, hovering about two inches off the ground. He had benefited from some lovely afternoon walks and was a wonderful golden colour. It made his eyes look dashed fine, in my opinion. 

“Good morning, Mr. Wooster,” said the glider.

“Good morning, Jeeves,” said I, smiling and feeling king of my small dominion. “Lovely day today, what? What’s the weather for to-day?”

“Extremely clement, sir. Warm but not harsh.”

“Wonderful. Dare I say it, perfect, Jeeves.”

His face grimaced tinnily in what might almost be called a smile. “Indeed, sir.”

Thus it can be seen that the morning began in a typical, nay better than the norm, direction. The relationship between Jeeves and I was, as usual, charming. Perfectly feudal, for his sake, and perfectly chummy for mine. 

It was also thus later on. I spent most of the day in the sitting room, reading one of my detective novels. The detective chap had his suspects, had narrowed them down, and had even caught the final damning piece of evidence by the time I closed the pages and gave it up for the day. Jeeves was immediately by my side with a restorative cup of tea and all was still well.

It was, unfortunately, not to last. 

“What are we having for dinner to-night, Jeeves? More of that squash and whatsit?”

After a moment, I turned to look over my shoulder at the chap. He had taken several breaths before replying, which was a very un-Jeeves-like thing to do, as anyone who knows him can tell you. I’d bet five pounds that the first time his mother cooed at him and said, “Who’s my handsome little boy?” it took him only an intake of breath to reply.

“Something the matter, Jeeves?”

He gave a small grimace. The stuffed frog impression was on in full force.

“I could not say, sir,” he choked out. 

“You could not say?”

“Yes, sir.”

I blinked. “Well, why’s that?”

He appeared pained. “Well, sir…” He sounded rather rummy, in that way he gets when we’re about to have a disruption to the domestic bliss of the Wooster household.

“I have received a rather urgent invitation and I am afraid dinner must be postponed.”

His dark eyes were cast sheepishly on the carpet as my brain attempted to unravel this knotted ball of yarn he had just tossed at me. It was not the fact that he had been invited somewhere that puzzled me; in fact, Jeeves sometimes received more invitations than I did in a week. No, it was rather the timing of the thing that had me stymied. Jeeves may have been the talk of the town in his circles, but he was still an exceptional valet and never one to dismiss his duties. That meant it must be rather an important thing like a dead relation or a proposal or something of that nature. The one option was sad, but bearable; the other one made me shiver to think of.

“Has a relation of yours...er…?” I asked, desperately hoping that was the case, despite the obvious grief it would cause for my man.

“No, sir,” he responded, and my heart sank within me. “But it is a matter of utmost importance that I am unable to miss.”

It was a proposal, then. Well. Never let it be said that a Wooster doesn’t have intuition.

“Oh?” I said, trying to be light-hearted, regardless of the fact that he was currently smacking me in the chest with an anvil.

“Indeed, sir.” He seemed unwilling to reveal any more details.

“Oh.”

The atmos. was tense and uncomfortable. I sighed minutely. “Well, I suppose there’s nothing for it, then. I shall dine at the club tonight. Thank you for informing me, Jeeves.”

“Sir.”

He departed.

And that, dear Reader, is where we left off. Jeeves collected some things, made me a pot of tea, and exited stage right. I have been drowning my sorrows in tea and melodrama since. 

You might be wondering why I care. Why, Wooster, you might be asking, do you have so much stock in which filly catches the gaze of your valet? Are you attempting to breed them, or something? Well, I can tell you definitely that I am not doing that.

No, in truth, the committed bachelor Wooster has finally found a gem that glitters just for him. I will spare you the mushy details, but I will simply tell you that while I have long said that it matters not to me whether I continue to spend my years alone, it recently occurred to me that I have not been spending my years alone. I have been dodging woman after woman in an attempt not to disrupt the domestic bliss I have found in my man. It hardly occurred to me that he would have to dodge women, too.

So, that is the situation. I have been nursing a tender pass. for my valet for these past years. I have also been a fool not to think he might want some mascara-d beast for a lifelong companion. He may be my exact cup of tea and a biscuit, but that does not guarantee the reverse. 

The thing is, though, that I made a rather bigger fool of myself than might at first be imagined. Not only did I not stop and consider the fact that he didn’t think the Wooster figure better than a chorus girl’s, but I had even gone and bought him a ring. It wasn’t anything garish, of course, because since when has Jeeves liked anything garish, but it was gold and it shined in the light and it had our initials engraved on the inside.

I heaved a sigh and let my head hang. Dash it all, must I always be so thick-headed? How could I have missed it? Was it the girl at the bakery I saw him greet two Sundays back? Or was it the cousin of that dancer I know? Or, more likely, was it someone I had never met?

I felt both hurt and deceived. Yes, I had foolishly assumed Jeeves would be fond of me, but I was not coming to that assumption completely unreasonably. There had certainly been portions of fondness dished out on both sides for quite a while. Who, besides Jeeves, had ever bothered to learn and remember the French tune my old schoolmaster had always hummed and hummed it sometimes himself? My heart ached at the memory.

It had been a frivolous day full of sunshine and sliced sandwiches. We had walked down to the park and seated ourselves on a bench, the wrought iron warm from the sun. As he always does in the summer, Jeeves had tanned quite beautifully and recalled to my mind images of bronze sculpture, their masculine outlines having always been both titillating and awe-inspiring. Jeeves’s own virile allure was not lost on me then, and I found myself smiling and blushing rather like a silly schoolgirl. Conversation drifted this way and that, finally landing on that French ditty I liked. I sang it to him once, as I do with many other songs I care for, and he expressed a mild interest but said no more about it.

I was surprised, then, when several weeks later I heard him quietly humming the song in the morning before he came to bring me my morning restorative. My heart fluttered within my breast at that, but I hadn’t the courage to bring it up with him. To be quite honest, I hadn’t ever heard Jeeves sing outside of when we would play a tune on the instrument together, and I didn’t want to imply that I thought it untoward of him to do so whilst completing his duties. If he wished to add a spot of music to his dull tasks, who was I to tell him to stuff it and get on with his day? Frankly, I thought it charming and was a bit caught up in daydreams as to why he had picked that particular tune to hum.

Looking back, now, those daydreams turn black and dreary. Was I even certain he had been singing my song? 

Oh, Reader. How the Wooster heart aches when mistreated.

Eventually I raised myself from my laurels, put on my hat, and exited the flat. One has to eat, after all. It cheered me to walk the little way to the Drones’. It was still rather clement and I saw several butterflies circling the occasional flower in flower-box. I might have been heartbroken, but it would take quite a lot of pain to get a Wooster to forget the beauty of God’s green Earth. 

In addition to the natural beauty cheering me, my spirits were also lifted by the amicable manner in which I was greeted by the club staff. They know me well and are fond of me, I should like to say. I am, truth be told, one of the members who is least likely to break things intentionally. Accidentally, now, that’s a different tale.

I sat down at the bar and ordered a brandy and soda, light on the soda. I was greeted by several of my chums, including Ginger, who had recently broken an engagement with a librarian filly, but my heart was not up to camaraderie, much. This was especially because, due to Ginger’s breaking off, he was tempted to scorn any mention of love or heartache by calling the aching one silly and off his rocker. I suppose all who have willingly ended a relationship think such things, but it is not much comfort to those who are on the receiving end of a breaking off. If what was happening to my own self could be called such, anyway.

Did Jeeves ever think of me as being fond of him? Surely in an amicable employer-employee type way, yes, but did he know I thought of him as a deepest friend? I felt like the man who had had his precious silver cow creamer purloined; a treasure of mine had vanished in the night with some ruffian. Not that I thought of myself as a ruffian, per se, but I’m certain that’s what he thought when I vanished with cow creamer in the night. 

I had some sort of soup and fish thingummy, but it turned to dust in my mouth. Jeeves was, of course, the master of cooking fish and I had been spoiled for any fish for evermore. The only one who could hold a candle to Jeeves in that regard was Anatole, but I doubt anyone could surpass him--Anatole--in any matter of the fork and spoon. 

The background atmosphere shifted jiltingly and I was caught off guard. Ginger had gone from recalling tales of the librarian girl’s follies and mishaps to suddenly collapsing into a chair, sobbing, and wailing on her finer qualities. Several tears jumped to my eyes, but did not yet fall. Moved by an innate urge to comfort a comrade, I stood and went over to Ginger, who had stopped wailing and was now simply crying into his hands, surrounded by several fellow Drones’ members. I put a hand on his shoulder and said some silly comforting things to him for a while. 

Eventually he paused his sobs long enough to gargle, “I’m just worried I’ve given up my only chance at love.”

That’s what got me. The tears fell like raindrops and I fell with them, into a neighboring chair. Ginger’s sentiment had struck the exact chord which had been aching within my heart. I had never found the connection I had with Jeeves with anyone else! What if I would never love again? If he left me, could I ever find anyone to replace him? Perhaps there would be a valet suitably skilled, but that was unlikely. Jeeves was the paragon of his field, of course. In matters of the heart, though, it was utterly unthinkable. No one else could make butterflies dance in my innards the way he could. No one else was as gorgeous and alluring as he. No one else brought that certain sense of perfect calm to my household and no one else ever could.

Perhaps it was something I had done. I hadn’t bought anything too garish in these past weeks. Maybe it was the late nights? I couldn’t be certain about anything. All I could do was go home, wait for Jeeves to return, and present him with my sorrowful, honest heart. If he hated me, then he hated me. I couldn’t bear not to know.

On the way back to my flat, I picked up some flowers from a young girl’s stand, sweet peas and irises. I knew Jeeves had a fondness for flowers, though I wasn’t certain which kind. His poet johnnies all sang of flowers and fair milk maids drowning. I couldn’t understand why he read that stuff, but Jeeves is Jeeves and I wouldn’t have him any other way.

It wasn’t long, after I returned, before Jeeves walked in, looking ashamed and a spot nervous.

“Jeeves,” I said, standing from the settee. “How was your evening? I trust everything is alright?”

“Yes, sir,” he said, just the slightest bit tightly, “all is well. I apologize again for the disruption to routine. It won’t happen again.”

“Well, actually, Jeeves--”

He turned from placing his hat on the rack to look at me. His beautiful eyes, which had always caught my appreciative gaze, seemed rather sad and worn. 

I coughed a little, embarrassed. “I, err, I picked up some flowers this evening. I thought you might like some after this stressful occasion.”

Jeeves’ eyebrows raised an eighth of an inch. “Thank you, sir--”

The floodgates broke and I rudely interrupted him, overcome. “Oh, Jeeves, please tell me what I did that has upset you. I’m so terribly sorry,” I set my glass of brandy down on the side table and stepped closer, “I know I’ve been out late these past few nights and I know I’ve been peevish and cross several times but, dash it all, man, I couldn’t--I can’t--you just--I....” I trailed off, choked up. I swept a hand over my eyes and cleared my throat.

“Jeeves.”

“Sir.” He was strikingly guarded. It looked as if he wanted to dash from the room. “If I might say something.”

I sighed and felt weak. “Yes, yes, of course, Jeeves.”

“You have not done anything to upset me, sir. I am sorry if I gave the impression.”

“Oh, it’s of no matter.”

Jeeves removed his overcoat and set it upon the hook. “I apologize also, sir, for not informing you previously of my plans this evening. In all honesty, I did not wish for you to know.”

My heart sank within me. It has sunk so many times to-day, it is a wonder it hasn’t knocked the down-stairs neighbour on the head. This is it, I thought to myself. This is when Jeeves announces he thinks I’m a dashed creepy cove and that he is running away with some Brazilian broad to go have beautiful children by the sea.

I weakly grasped for my brandy and took a large sip. I was going to need it.

“And why’s that, Jeeves?” I asked, the question coming out a bit harsher than intended. “Intending to run off with some Brazilian broad and go have beautiful children by the sea?”

The faintest bit of color rose to Jeeves’ cheeks. “No, sir.”

“Some English girl, then? That chorus girl’s cousin I met once?”

“No, sir, I--”

“Then  _ who _ , Jeeves?” I roared, anger and shame finally bursting out. “Who are you running off with to leave me alone? I know I’m bothersome and queer in habits and rather off my rocker sometimes, but I did rather think we had some sort of a relationship, man! Was I wrong to assume you cared a whit about me?”

“Sir, I--”

“No, Jeeves! No!” I stepped closer and poked at him with my finger. “You don’t get to explain the logic of this move to me. Dash it all, Jeeves, I thought you knew. I thought--I thought you knew I loved you.”

The air within me left and I sagged. Desperation overcame me and I began crying again. Today was a soggy day, it seemed.

“I thought you knew,” I gasped, eyes cast to the floor. “I thought you knew.”

I screwed my eyes shut and thought of how foolish I must seem. Silly man, Jeeves must be thinking, to expect the first friendly valet he meets to be inverted like him. Silly old Wooster.

When I reopened my eyes, I saw Jeeves had stepped closer.

His voice was soft when he spoke. “You did not allow me to finish. I did not want you to know my whereabouts because I wanted it to be a surprise. I am certainly not intending to run off with any woman, now or in future.”

I raised my teary eyes to Jeeves’ handsome face. He reached within his jacket and pulled out a box. I could have fainted.

“Jeeves,” I whispered. “Do you--?”

“Mr. Wooster,” he began, placing the box softly in my hands. Oh, how I had longed to feel his gloves against my skin. (Or, better yet…) “Would you do me the honour?”

Unsurprisingly, within the box there was a ring. I dropped both box and ring, and dashed from the room, leaving Jeeves stricken.

“One moment, Jeeves!” I called, knowing how terrible the wait must be for him. Dash it, where I had put the damned thing? 

Finally! I found it in a drawer of my bedside table. I ran back to the living room and shoved my own box at Jeeves. He had picked up both ring and box and I plucked them from his trembling hands. 

“Mr. Jeeves,” I said, smiling, “Would  _ you _ do  _ me _ the honour?”

It was so beautiful, I could have cried again, but all my tears had since been used. Jeeves smiled fully, for the first time I had ever witnessed, as we exchanged rings. They were both gold and glittered in the light. Jeeves had removed his gloves and was now in the process of ruining my hair as his hands went through it again and again as we kissed each other breathless. 

Now, dear Reader, this is when I cut you off. I’m sure you would like all the saucy details, but that is between myself and my dear man. Suffice it to say, we had a bit of fun. 

THE END.

**Author's Note:**

> Aha! I've finally returned. To be quite honest, the reason I didn't write any new fics for quite a while was because my fic count was at 69 and I was tempted to leave it that way forever lmao. Creativity has a way of making you it's slave, though, and I couldn't /not/ write another jooster fic.
> 
> As always, thanks so much for reading!  
> \- M


End file.
